I’ve been living in Brooklyn, NY since 2010, but you couldn’t call me a city dweller. I spend so much time outside of the city, I’ve been considering taking up residence in my car for the next few months. (Don’t tell my mom.)
When I hear the word “adventure”, I don’t necessarily think of big mountains and vast oceans. I think about bushwhacking for unnecessary hours, wrong turns and car breakdowns, driving down unknown highways at 4 a.m., and the ever familiar retreat back to your car/apartment/campsite in blinding, freezing cold rain with no shell.
Most adventures begin sleeping on airport floors—obviously.
This adventure went from cold car camping in Red River Gorge to the La Guardia airport floor. I made a floor buddy, drank some whiskey, and smuggled two large pizzas onto my flight and woke up to big, beautiful, clear Tennessee skies.
There was a Dirtbag Climber reunion at Tennessee Wall. There is no other place like T-wall in the autumn. I knew from my first trip that I would be back. T-wall is sort of like the Gunks, except someone took the cliff and flipped it on its side, then gave the roofs a bunch of steroids. It is…magnificent.
We hiked a ways to find Fists of Fury (5.12c) at Paradise Falls. It’s a seriously badass roof crack. We warmed up on climbs to the right during the day. It was starting to get late, but I tied into the rope and armed myself with a headlamp (you just never know.) I started up the first fifteen feet of Fists and burled my way through the moves, taking on a lot of my gear. It felt like it took hours to just successfully make my way through the first little roof, and we had completely lost the sunlight. Admitting defeat, I had to down aid all of my pieces. Though I was worked, I’m glad to have tried the beginning section. I will be back, without a doubt. My fists are ready…and furious.
Heading back to the airport, I thought about what an adventure November has been. I didn’t make it to the Valley. I haven’t made it out west yet. There’s a lot that I haven’t done. I can tell you what I DID have, though: a buttload of fun. And November is nowhere near over.
Home is kind of a funny thing. This past year especially, I’ve become really good at nesting and feeling at home wherever I go. I think it’s a good life skill to have. Maybe home isn’t so much a place, but instead, a feeling. Whatever my latitude and longitude are, I know that the true joy of life comes from being content where I am, at whatever moment. For this reason, what I consider to be “home” is constantly changing for me. Home is wherever I am at that particular moment in time. So, when I see those first lights flying into La Guardia, I’ll know that I’m already there.